


the silent strength of fragile things

by eneiryu



Category: Light as a Feather (TV)
Genre: Coping Mechanisms, Doing the Wrong Thing for the Right Reasons, F/F, It's Violet Simmons After All, Or Maybe the Right Thing for the Wrong Reasons, Pain, The Chrysalis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 20:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eneiryu/pseuds/eneiryu
Summary: “Where’s the fire?” Violet asks when McKenna yanks open the Brady house door, smirking because only her and McKenna really know how much of afirethere really is.





	the silent strength of fragile things

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look, this is _not_ a novel-length Teen Wolf story about Theo Raeken's redemption. Someone check outside for flying pigs.
> 
> This is set in the nebulous time in 2A after McKenna has gotten Violet out of prison and after her and Trey have broken up, but before any shit has truly started to hit the fan.

Violet has twelve missed texts and four missed calls by the time she finally pulls up to the Brady house, having obeyed the speed limit all the way there and having kept her phone firmly in her purse as she drove, because the sudden adherence to lawfulness amused her. She takes her time strolling up to the front door, too, idly scrolling through McKenna’s increasingly shrill and increasingly demanding texts, though she frowns when she realizes that the texts had suddenly dropped off fifteen minutes ago; an abrupt end. Her stomach suddenly feels queasy.

But then she reaches the door, and not only does McKenna yank it open before she has a chance to knock, she also reaches forward and drags Violet into the house with a fist clenched in her shirt. Violet frowns down at McKenna’s hand stretching out the fabric over her heart and tells her, “Hey, I like this shirt,” deliberately asinine. 

“Where the hell have you _been?_” McKenna hisses, ignoring her. Her eyes are frantic and her movements manic. Jerky, like there’s something twisted deep within McKenna stretching its insidious way out through her limbs; burrowing its way into her. Violet’s amusement drops away so hard and so fast it’s almost painful.

“Sorry, Mac,” She whispers, and means it, though McKenna probably doesn’t realize it and wouldn’t trust it even if she did.

McKenna just takes her arm instead of a fistful of her shirt and drags her upstairs, snapping _at work_ when Violet tentatively asks where her mom is; not a little worried about being violently murdered after all, if Deb Brady saw her daughter’s attempted murderer in her house. The door to Jennie’s room is firmly closed when they reach the second floor hallway, and Violet has a strange moment of certainty that _that’s _where McKenna is going to lead her, that that’s where they’re heading, but then McKenna makes a sharp right turn and all but throws Violet into her own room instead, crowding her through the doorway and then pressing the door closed. 

Literally pressing; McKenna spends a few long moments with her body slumped against the door, her forehead digging hard enough against the wood that Violet can see the white skin around her temples, her eyes, the pressure forcing all the blood out.

“McKenna…” Violet breathes, but McKenna just cuts her off with a sudden, harsh half-sob that looks and sounds like it’d been ripped out of her.

“It _hurts_, Violet,” She confesses, and when she rolls her head against the door to look at Violet directly there are tears running down her cheeks.

“I know,” Violet says immediately, because she _does_. “I know,” She repeats, more softly, because now McKenna does, too.

McKenna gulps in a huge, shaky breath and rolls the rest of the way so that her back is to the door, though Violet can see the way she holds her lower back—holds the _chrysalis_—very carefully away. “You said you could _help_,” McKenna says, half an accusation.

Violet grimaces, because on the way over here the idea of presenting this solution to McKenna had been enough to make her curl over her steering wheel at a red light, guffawing and just so meanly _satisfied_, because finally, _finally_, perfect McKenna Brady might understand the absolute _violation_—of boundaries, of reality, of _self_—that the chrysalis represented. Violet had wiped gleeful tears from underneath her eyes and used her sunshade mirror to fix her makeup, headless of the way the cars behind her had honked and their drivers had sworn as the light had turned green. 

But now she can’t seem to force the words out, and worse yet McKenna must see that she’s hiding something, because her expression twists with fury. “What the _hell_, Violet? You said—!”

“I know what I said!” Violet snaps, cutting her off; suddenly furious. _God_, it always came down to _her_, didn’t it? Violet Simmons: the last resort always needed, the final push always come to shove.

McKenna suddenly blanches, experience or better sense, maybe, catching up with her. “Wait,” She demands, “Wait, does this involve…?”

“Killing someone?” Violet interrupts, nastily. “Playing the game again?”

McKenna’s mouth snaps shut so fast that Violet can hear her teeth click together. Where before she’d looked accusatory, now she just looks _young_; stupid and naive and so, so young. 

“No,” Violet tells her, soft and slow; cornered-animal-soothing. “No, it doesn’t involve killing anyone, or the game.” She starts to take careful, quiet steps forward towards McKenna, because she knows—she _knows_—that McKenna is going to end up saying yes; that she’s going to _have_ to end up saying yes; pain puppeting her muscles and mouth, if nothing else. “But you’re still not going to like it.”

McKenna watches her warily, pressing herself harder up against the door in unconscious retreat. “Can you _stop_ with the cryptic bullshit, finally? What does that even mean?”

_This_, Violet thinks, and reaches forward to skim her fingers down the outside of McKenna’s bare arm, from the end of her shirt’s sleeve halfway down her bicep to just over the curve of her elbow, because that’s as far as Violet gets before McKenna is yanking her arm away, banging her elbow _hard_ back against the door as she goes. The expression on her face is stunned, but also filling up with the beginnings of _rage_, and she holds the arm Violet had stroked against her chest like it’s wounded as she hisses, “What the _fuck_, Violet?”

“You know how to get rid of the pain,” Violet snaps, and this time _she’s_ the one accusing, because McKenna _does_, and it’s not Violet’s fault that she keeps pretending she doesn’t. “At least for a little while. But there’s a way—” She starts to say, but McKenna has already opened her mouth, protesting.

“I’m _not doing that!_” She says, shrilly; unable even to make herself say the words. 

Violet just rolls her eyes, ignores her outburst, “_There’s a way to_—to distract yourself from the pain, for a bit.” _Long enough to get some sleep_, she thinks, but doesn’t say, studying the deep, deep shadows underneath McKenna’s sunken eyes.

McKenna stays panting and furious up against the door, and Violet stays exactly where she is, waiting. She came here knowing McKenna was going to crumple and surrender—she’d been debating hazy plans to make McKenna _beg_, half-daydreaming it—and she _still_ knows that, but she can’t seem to find the sense of intoxicating _victory_ she’d been reveling in. Now she just feels _tired_.

But she’s also _right_, because after a long minute, McKenna relaxes, fractionally, and her eyes start skipping around the room. “I don’t…” She tries, and Violet loses patience.

“Yes, you _do_,” She snaps, and spreads her arms wide. “You called _me_, McKenna. Don’t waste my time.”

McKenna flinches, and Violet almost does the same; her sudden anger catching and burning up as quickly as it’d come. Biting her lip, she takes another careful step forward—McKenna’s eyes snapping to hers as she goes up on her tiptoes, pressing herself harder against the door—and reaches out again, leaves her fingers hovering just over the flesh of McKenna’s forearm still clutched against her chest.

“I know it sucks,” Violet murmurs. “But you and me both know it’s not the worst of all your bad options.”

McKenna stares at her, her still-wild eyes roving over Violet’s face, and Violet lets her look. She also keeps her hand exactly where it is, not touching but _offering_ a touch, there for McKenna to take or not take. Violet forces herself to keep her expression neutral, her eyes on the wood of the door just to the left of McKenna’s face rather than on it, and waits.

Still, she nearly jumps when McKenna slowly—achingly _slowly_—relaxes enough that the skin of her forearm brushes Violet’s outstretched fingers. It’s barely even a touch, just a skim, but McKenna still lets out a sudden sob like it’d been a _blow_, and all at once collapses forward. Violet makes a startled sound and catches her, aware—so _carefully_ aware—of the chrysalis on her back. The sudden additional contact seems to overwhelm McKenna, who moans brokenly and buries her face in Violet’s neck, her legs wobbling enough that Violet gives in and takes them both to their knees before they can fall.

“It hurts, it _hurts_,” McKenna just keeps sobbing, her face hot and wet against Violet’s neck, her fingers spasming around Violet’s arms.

“I know. I _know_,” Violet murmurs, absently surprised by the tenderness in her own voice; by her fingers, which had started to stroke over McKenna’s arms, her hair, the side of her hot, clammy neck.

“_Please_,” McKenna suddenly begs, and Violet nearly grimaces, again, and to keep the expression from making its way onto her face she uses one of her hands to tip McKenna’s face up, and ducks her own head, and kisses her.

McKenna moans, at first, more confusion than pleasure. But then her spasming fingers lose some of their shakiness and start _clutching_ instead, and tight enough that Violet is going to have bruises; the thought makes her shiver, unexpectedly. She drops her mouth open and presses her tongue to McKenna’s lips, and shivers _again_ when McKenna doesn’t hesitate to open for her. 

“Oh,” McKenna pants against her mouth, into the kiss. “_Oh_.”

Violet had cupped a hand around McKenna’s neck to hold her steady but now she drops it, slides it underneath McKenna’s arm and her ribs so that she can struggle back fully up to her knees, still kissing her, and start pulling McKenna up with her. McKenna makes a protesting sound and tries to pull her back down, and even with that simple movement Violet can feel how goddamn _weak_ she already is.

“McKenna. _McKenna_,” She insists, getting her other hand down beneath McKenna’s other arm so that she can encourage McKenna up even more. “C’mon, come with me to the bed.”

_That_ gets McKenna’s attention, and she stops fighting Violet and suddenly surges upward, and fast enough that Violet nearly stumbles backwards and takes them both down. But she finds her feet, and steadies McKenna, and leads her staggering to the bed, more because McKenna doesn’t want to let go of her—doesn’t want to pull her mouth away, resisting every time Violet tries—than because of McKenna’s body’s weakness. Violet feels a pang of guilt—she _knows_ that rush of endorphins, that sudden stunning _absence_ of pain; she knows how it can fuck with your head—but then she shoves it down, away, because the bed is knocking into both of their knees.

McKenna tries to pull Violet down, on top of her, but Violet knows from painful experience that that isn’t going to work, so she twists, some, so that when McKenna yanks backwards they both land on their sides, instead. McKenna tries to climb on top of her then, but that isn’t going to work _either_, because—because Violet needs an _escape route_; needs a sure way out. Planting a palm on McKenna’s hip, Violet keeps her back, keeps her at bay, and then ducks her head forward, to McKenna’s neck, as some kind of combination consolation prize and distraction.

“_Oh_,” McKenna says again, and stops fighting, arching her neck so that Violet’s mouth can better reach her fluttering pulse point, the sinewy stretch of muscle and tendon that Violet can’t help but put her _teeth_ against.

Violet knows better than to leave a mark but she _wants_ to, so instead she pulls back and rises up some on her knees, enough that when she wraps her fingers in McKenna’s hem she has the leverage she needs to start working the shirt up, towards McKenna’s chest. McKenna groans quietly and wiggles, helping as much as she seems to be coherently able to, at the moment, and after some maneuvering and tugging Violet manages to get it pulled up, and off. She looks away for a second to get McKenna’s shirt tossed away somewhere, and then frowns when she looks back, because McKenna has rolled firmly onto her back and Violet can see the _pain_ written raw across her face.

“What are you doing?” Violet demands, irrationally annoyed. She reaches forward to grasp McKenna’s hip and try and roll her up, back onto her side and off the chrysalis, but McKenna bites off a harsh noise and shoves her hand off, away. “McKenna!” Violet rebukes sharply, and looks up to glare at her.

Except that she can’t catch McKenna’s eyes, because they’re jumping around evasively, her jaw clenched tight enough that Violet can see the muscles stood starkly out in the corner by her ear. Some of her irritation softens, and this time when she reaches for McKenna’s hip it’s in a stroking touch; a gentle skim.

“You think I don’t know what it looks like?” Violet murmurs to her, soothing and slow. “McKenna. I _know_ what it looks like.”

McKenna’s expression spasms, but this time when Violet takes ahold of her hip and rolls her, she goes. Violet swallows around a suddenly tight throat and—giving into a sudden flash of instinct—keeps encouraging her to roll until she’s not only on her side, but _past_ it, onto her stomach. McKenna makes a harsh, unhappy noise but Violet just gently shushes her, dragging her fingers around from McKenna’s hip up and over her ribs, between her shoulder blades. The chrysalis pulses, horrific and _deadly_, and Violet glares at it for a moment before refocusing; before leaning down to put her mouth on the back of McKenna’s neck, her hair swept carefully away.

“_Violet!_” McKenna gasps, and then shivers and buries her face harder against the bed when Violet opens her mouth and sets her teeth against the knob of McKenna’s spine, just holding there. 

She’s painfully, _painfully_ aware of the chrysalis, the fingers of one hand resting deliberately to its side like a landmark, like a warning. But it doesn’t stop her from dragging her mouth down McKenna’s back until she meets her fingertips just inches from the start of the chrysalis’s grasping reach. McKenna _sobs_ again as she bites down at the skin underneath her lips, but it isn’t a pained sound, and Violet can’t help her triumphant grin.

“Roll over for me,” Violet says quietly once she straightens up; a request, not an order. “Just onto your side, McKenna. Please.”

McKenna does, slowly and clearly reluctantly. Her eyes flick up to Violet’s face when she’s done, almost hidden beneath her ducked brow, and Violet just tilts her head, reaches forward to skim a lock of hair back and off McKenna’s face, behind her ear. Ignoring a brief flash of uncertainty, she leans down, and has to bite back her _own_ surprised noise when McKenna surges up to meet her, their teeth clacking. Humming, Violet encourages her carefully back down—holding her firm so that she won’t roll back onto her back—and gentles the kiss, licking into McKenna’s mouth when she drops it open.

But she can tell when it stops being enough, because McKenna squirms and says, her voice cracking, “Violet, _please_, it—”

And Violet suddenly can’t _stand_ to hear her say _it hurts_ again, and she surges forward harder into her mouth, smothering the word. But she also drops a hand down to McKenna’s bare stomach, the back of her knuckles skimming up, up, until they meet the bottom of McKenna’s bra. McKenna makes a noise and jerks, and Violet pauses, waiting. It takes a few seconds—their kiss stopping, too—and then McKenna suddenly grabs Violet’s hand with her own, moves it up, out, until she can flatten her palm against Violet’s; until she can flatten Violet’s hand against her breast.

“Oh,” Violet breathes, surprised in spite of herself, McKenna moaning quietly underneath her and squirming. 

McKenna doesn’t take her hand away from Violet’s right away, and her spasming fingers drive Violet’s harder around her. Violet can feel the insistent press of McKenna’s hard nipple against her palm and she swallows, shifts her fingers until she can thumb at it beneath the fabric of McKenna’s bra. McKenna shudders and nearly rolls over onto her back until Violet—scrambling, some, her mind working syrupy and slow—manages to grab her hip and stop her.

“Don’t, Mac,” Violet orders gently. McKenna makes a breathy protest—Violet had dropped the hand that was on her breast to her hip—and Violet bites her lip, thinking. Then her eyes flick up to the pillows arranged neatly at the top of McKenna’s bed and she reaches forward—leaving one hand on McKenna’s face to keep her still, and calm—and snags two of them, dragging them back down.

“What—?” McKenna starts to ask, so Violet just kisses her quiet again, and then sits up and grabs the first of the pillows. 

She tucks it firmly behind McKenna’s shoulders, McKenna frowning at her and then twisting around to try and see it, but Violet ignores her, and reaches for the second. For a moment she’s stuck, the logistics of the situation frustrating her plan, but then she feels a gentle touch on her arm and she glances down, surprised, at McKenna.

“Behind my knees,” She says, quietly, and bends her knees demonstratively. “It’ll—the pressure will be enough.”

Violet studies her for a second, but then she nods, once, and leans down to tuck the pillow firmly beneath and behind McKenna’s knees, the curve of her ass. It leaves her pinned back against the two pillows, one at her shoulder and one at her legs, the chrysalis left uncovered and raw between them. It leaves _McKenna_ pinned between the pillows and Violet’s own body, and Violet finds herself fighting down her own urge to squirm, heat pulsing between her legs.

Violet hesitates, but McKenna is looking at her expectantly—looking at her with faith, and hope, and not a little _trust_ in her eyes—and so Violet swallows, and leans down, and kisses her again, gentler and more tenderly than she’d originally meant. McKenna presses up and into it, though not enough—Violet can feel the strain in her shoulders, her neck—to dislodge the pillows that Violet had so carefully arranged behind her. Swallowing back a small sound, Violet presses harder forward so that she’s pushing McKenna back into the pillows instead, stretching out as she goes so that she’s lying on her side. 

Initially McKenna tries to drag her in close, but Violet resists, shaking her head slightly so that she doesn’t break the kiss. McKenna makes a frustrated noise until suddenly she gets it, Violet’s hand dragging back up over her still-clothed thigh to her bare stomach and back to her chest, her fingers playing just lightly with the fabric just at the edge of McKenna’s bra. McKenna probably thinks she’s teasing and Violet tries to tell herself that too, but there’s a flutter of nerves in her stomach that she’s having a hard time ignoring, her fingers curled just enough that her top of her nails are scraping over and over the elastic band.

“Violet, _please_,” McKenna finally whispers, voice hoarse and cracking, and Violet cracks, too, and slides her hand up and under McKenna’s bra until she’s cupping her bare breast, McKenna jerking and moaning loud in her ear.

She also goes to roll reflexively back but is stopped by the pillows, and Violet moves a little closer, fiercely satisfied. It drives her palm more firmly against McKenna’s chest and McKenna hisses and reaches forward for her, grasping her arm _hard_ in turn, like she was afraid Violet might try to pull away again and planned to keep her there by force, if necessary. 

But Violet couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do _less_, pressing closer again and shifting her hand slightly to the side so that she could get her thumb on McKenna’s nipple, roll it gently. McKenna’s breath hitches and she goes to bring a leg over Violet’s hip, Violet can feel it in the way the mattress shifts below them, so she moves first, pins McKenna’s legs down with her own before she could move and roll off or away from the pillow keeping her legs upright, off the chrysalis. But practically meant or not, the result is that McKenna shudders and drops her mouth away from Violet’s, burying her face in Violet’s shoulder with a small, stunned cry. 

It leaves Violet’s mouth free, and lets her eyes drift. And drift they do, down from the arch of McKenna’s neck to her bare shoulder, to the stretch of fabric covering her breast and clearly showing the outline of Violet’s hand underneath. An urge strikes Violet hard, and fast, and she hesitates only a second before lifting her wrist up, holding it there as McKenna’s bra slips slowly down the back of her hand.

McKenna jerks at the sudden shock of cold air on her bare breast but Violet doesn’t give her long to think about it, just ducks her head and puts her mouth to McKenna’s nipple, closes her lips around it. McKenna all but _shrieks_, burying the sound in her wrist at the last second, her back arching to push her chest harder against Violet’s mouth. Swallowing her own moan, Violet presses back, laving her tongue harder against McKenna’s nipple and squeezing with her hand still cupped around McKenna’s breast; she has to bear down with the leg she has thrown over McKenna’s hip to keep her steady as McKenna shudders; as they both shudder.

“Violet, _oh_,” McKenna gasps, her hand sliding from Violet’s arm to Violet’s hair, tangling there and holding. 

But Violet can also feel McKenna’s hips giving these little jerks against the bed, these helpless, unsteady little thrusts, and she knows what she needs to do; she knows what McKenna _needs_. So she keeps her mouth where it is, keeps sucking and biting at McKenna’s nipple, but lets her hand slide down, over the curve of McKenna’s stomach to the waistband of her loose sweats. She pauses again, then, that brief swell of uncertainty squirming in her gut, but McKenna just bites off a frustrated noise and presses her hips up, up against Violet’s hand in a silent ask.

Violet tips her head back just enough to look up at her, sees McKenna looking steadily down, and feels a small smile quirk her lips. “Okay, Mac,” She breathes, McKenna shivering as her words send air streaming over sensitive, damp skin, and then she finishes sliding her hand down, under McKenna’s sweats and the soft cotton of her underwear both. 

At the first brush of Violet’s fingers between her legs McKenna jerks back, and Violet nearly freezes. But then she has to swallow her own moan and burrow her face against McKenna’s chest, because McKenna abruptly reverses direction and presses forward, against Violet’s exploring fingers. The movement drives the pads of Violet’s fingers against her clit and McKenna shudders and bites off another shriek, her legs twitching underneath Violet’s pinning knee as she tries to spread them; as she tries to open herself up further.

“Violet, _please_,” McKenna whispers, pressing insistently up against her leg, and Violet considers. Then she leans up to kiss McKenna _hard_, both because she desperately wants to and because she needs to ensure she has McKenna’s attention.

“Tell me you’ll stay up against the pillows,” Violet orders after she pulls back, and McKenna blinks at her, her gasped-open mouth red and wet. “_McKenna_.”

Violet presses down harder with her knee and McKenna jerks, her eyes clearing some as she apparently understands what Violet was trying to tell her. She starts to nod, quick and jerky, but Violet just stares at her, waits. 

“_Yes_,” McKenna says, finally, half a huff and half a frustrated moan, but her gaze when she meets Violet’s own is sharper; sharp enough that Violet believes her.

Biting her own lip, and carefully watching McKenna as she moves, Violet slowly lifts her leg up and off of McKenna’s hip and upper thigh, letting her up. McKenna immediately moves to follow, spreading her legs further, and in a sudden burst of inspiration Violet dips her own leg, circles it back inwards so that her knee is resting on the inside of McKenna’s thigh; so that her leg is holding McKenna’s open. 

“Like this?” She asks, too-gentle again, but McKenna is already biting her own lip and nodding, her breath starting to pant once more.

Violet hadn’t moved her fingers during their sudden, abrupt negotiation, just left them curled and barely hovering over the slick heat between McKenna’s legs, and so it takes barely more than a thought, a twitch, to curl them a little harder, press them back up against that sensitive bundle of nerves. McKenna seems better prepared for it this time, moaning instead of crying out and rolling her hips into the touch, sending Violet’s fingers sliding back, back through her folds and to her entrance; Violet’s breath catches. 

For a moment she considers pulling back, rubbing at McKenna’s clit again, getting her off that way. But all at once she _wants_, and McKenna is pressing forward against her, her hips giving these hopeful little twitches, and so she slides her hand even further back, all but one of her fingers folding back as she presses inside, slow; slow. McKenna groans and drops one hand to Violet’s forearm; not pulling back or driving forward, just holding on. Swallowing, surprised by the tightness in her own throat, Violet leans forward so that she can press a kiss to McKenna’s chest. And then another one, and another one.

McKenna arches her head back for her as Violet goes, as Violet starts to pump her finger slowly, and then more quickly as McKenna’s hips start to roll up to meet her. She’s hot, and more than wet enough, that Violet slides her first finger almost all the way out after a half-minute or so and then presses back forward with two before McKenna can complain. The angle isn’t perfect and McKenna’s sweats and underwear constrict her movement, but it doesn’t _matter_; McKenna moans Violet’s name directly into Violet’s ear and holds her arm tighter, presses in closer.

Violet can feel McKenna’s stomach clenching under the skin of her forearm, can feel the way McKenna’s pinned-open leg starts to curl and twitch against her knee. Turning her own flushed, hot face against McKenna’s neck, Violet adds a third finger and increases her speed, has to smother a moan against McKenna’s skin when McKenna cries out, loud and breathy. 

It doesn’t take long after that for McKenna’s clenching stomach to start to tremble, for her breath to start to stutter, especially after Violet changes the angle of her working hand just enough that she can press the heel of her palm up against McKenna’s clit as she continues to thrust her fingers. Her cries start to get breathier, and more unsteady—Violet speeding up even _more_, pressing the heel of her hand up even _more_—until finally her whole body arcs and she gives a long, wavering cry right in Violet’s ear. Opening her mouth in her own silent moan, Violet slides her fingers free but doesn’t fully retreat, just slides them back far enough that she can rub gently at McKenna’s clit, prolong McKenna’s climax best she can. 

Finally McKenna gives a hiccuping, incomplete sound and her hand around Violet’s forearm _does_ become a restraint. Violet takes it for the cue that it’s supposed to be and pulls her hand back, slides it carefully out of McKenna’s underwear and sweats after McKenna’s fingers fall bonelessly away. For a moment Violet’s afraid to pull back, to look at McKenna’s face—what if it didn’t _work?_ What if the pain just came roaring _back?_—but she needed have worried: when she steels herself and leans back, some, McKenna’s eyes are closed and her expression blissed-out, relaxed.

Still, Violet can’t help but whisper, “How do you feel?”

“Good,” McKenna slurs, and then laughs a little drunkenly. “_Really_ good. Wow.”

Violet can’t help the wide, shaky smile that takes her lips at that point, something tight and tangled in her chest falling loose and away. Before she’s really thought about it she’s brought up a hand and brushed a few errant locks of McKenna’s hair away, back behind her ear. McKenna stirs some, smiling, though she doesn’t open her eyes, her breathing slow, and starting to even out.

Violet’s chest twists again, but this time it’s a softer feeling; a lump at the bottom of her throat. Swallowing best she can around it, she reaches forward and resettles McKenna’s bra back over her chest, then starts to lower her leg carefully so that McKenna’s comes down with it, until she can slide her knee out from between McKenna’s legs and leave her lying, limbs relaxed and easy, on her side. The pillows are still are barrier behind her but after a moment of debate Violet leaves them, her mind flashing briefly to the chrysalis still burrowed parasitic-deep in McKenna’s flesh. Pulling her mind away from it, she looks once more at McKenna’s face and touches gentle fingers to her jaw, and then she slowly, gingerly sits up.

She’s almost immediately stopped by a hand reaching out to snag her wrist. “Wait,” McKenna mumbles, clearly already three-quarters asleep. “Wait, _you—_”

“Don’t worry about it,” Violet interrupts her gently, and reaches around so that she can carefully unwind McKenna’s fingers from around her wrist. “Just get some sleep, okay, McKenna?”

McKenna makes a protesting noise but she’s already too far asleep, her exhaustion taking her. Hesitating for just a moment, her eyes roving over McKenna’s face, Violet bites her lip and then slowly pushes herself up. Once on her feet she looks back down at McKenna and frowns, her head coming up to look around the room. There’s an afghan thrown over the chair in the corner and Violet grabs it, returning to the bed to shake it out and drape it over McKenna’s sleeping form.

And then she leaves, closing McKenna’s door silently behind herself. 

**Author's Note:**

> This...is probably not going to be my last venture with these two. (And/or Violet/Jennie, because I can feel that coming on). Hit me up if you've got prompts.
> 
> All feedback loved! If you liked, consider a comment or a [reblog](https://eneiryu.tumblr.com/post/188468930095/the-silent-strength-of-fragile-things-eneiryu).


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